The  Century  Magazine. 


Vol.  XXIV. 


MAY,  1882. 


No.  I. 


THE    ^\NADIAN    MECCA. 


Had  you  '^zen  a  pagan  Iroquois  on  the 
war-path  frouj  Onondaga*  in  the  summer  of 
1 66 1,  standing  on  the  Isle  of  Orleans,  below 
Quebec,  with  the  scalps  of  your  Huron  and 
French  foes  at  your  belt,  you  would  have  seen 
the  remnant  of  the  hated  Christian  Indians 
paddling  in  their  bark  canoes  across  the  St. 
Lawrence  to  the  northern  shore.  From  the 
bluff  of  land  where  the  picturesque  church  of 
St.  Francois  has  stood  for  over  a  century  and 
a  half,  you  would  have  seen  your  enemies  who 
had  sold  their  ancient  birthright  for  a  mess  of 
French  rum  and  trinkets,  steering  for  havens 
of  refuge  amid  a  rich  panorama  of  forest  and 
mountain — some  of  them  up  stream,  where 
they  found  shelter  under  the  guns  of  Quebec; 
most  of  them  toward  a  great  peak  of  the 
Laurentian  chain  of  hills,  where,  close  to  the 
shore,  a  small  stone  chapel  and  a  few  houses 
marked  the  site  of  Petit  Cap, — one  of  the  old- 
est settlements  on  one  of  the  oldest  roads  in 
Canada.  Had  you  stolen  before  day-break  at 
low  tide  across  the  water,  and  paddled  through 
the  marsh,  you  might  have  listened  until  you 
heard  the  bell  for  morning  vespers,  and  then 
gliding  ashore,  you  might  have  crept  behind 
the  brush  and  watched  a  procession  of  French 
and  their  Huron  allies,  headed  by  the  priests, 
slowly  marching  to  the  chapel,  and  repeat- 
ing the  invocation :  "Jesus,  Marie,  Joseph, 
Joachim,  et  Anne,  ^ecourez-nous,"  while  your 
blood  boiled  with  hate,  and  your  fingers 
tingled  to  get  at  their  hair.  About  a  century 
later,  had  you  been  a  loyal  English  colonist 
of  New  York,  you  might  have  followed  the 
Highlanders  in  their  attack  on  the  French 
and  Hurons  along  this  same  road,  and  in  this 
same  little  village,  then  named  Sainte  Anne. 
And  if  tradition  be  true, — and  a  possible  fable 

*As  New  York  was  then  called. 
Vol.  XXIV.— I. 


is  as  good  for  a  gobemouche  as  a  positive  fact, 
— you  might  have  seen  the  same  little  chapel 
delivered  by  the  mysterious  interposition  of 
the  saint  herself,  when  the  troops  tried  three 
times  in  succession  to  set  it  on  fire,  after  the 
rest  of  the  village  had  been  burned.  And 
now,  one  hundred  and  twenty-two  years 
later,  you  may  quietly  run  down  on  a  holiday 
trip  from  Donnacona's  ancient  throne,  the 
peaceful  citadel  of  Quebec,  to  this  same  little 
village,  now  called  "  Ste.  Anne  de  Beaupre," 
or  more  affectionately,  "  La  Bonne  Ste.  Anne," 
and  known  as  the  most  venerated  shrine  of 
the  Roman  Catholic  Church  in  Canada — the 
soul  and  center  of  reputed  miracles  as  won- 
derful as  any  that  stirred  the  heart  of  mediaeval 
Europe.  Though  not  accepted  without  re- 
serve by  the  more  educated  classes,  they  are 
as  sacred  to  the  superstitious  habitant  along 
the  St.  Lawrence  as  is  the  mother-shrine  of 
Ste.  Anne  d'Auray,  in  Brittany,  to  the  credu- 
lous sailors  in  the  Morbihan. 

The  heathen  red-skin  of  Onondaga  has  long 
since  been  Christianized,  and  is  passing  away. 
The  English  colonies,  which  had  a  sworn  foe 
in  the  New  France  at  the  north,  have  become 
a  great  and  independent  nation.  The  old 
French  colony,  with  its  brilliant  story,  has 
disappeared  in  the  Dominion  of  Canada,  and 
Richelieu's  grand  scheme  of  a  French  trans- 
atlantic cn.pire  has  its  mockery  in  the  small 
fishing-islands  of  Miquelon  and  St.  Pierre, 
off  the  south  coast  of  Newfoundland.  Little 
did  Richelieu  imagine,  when  he  excluded  the 
Huguenots  from  France  and  her  colonies,  that 
he  was  doing  as  much  as  possible  to  add  to 
the  wealth  of  the  Protestants  of  Europe  and 
to  the  prosperity  of  the  Puritans  of  New 
England,  and  that  one  of  the  results  of  his 
policy  was  to  be  the  perpetuation  of  the  very 
heresy  he  hated.    Persecution  often  makes  a 

[Copyright,  1882,  by  The  Century  Co.     All  rights  reserved.] 


\ 


THE   CANADIAN  MECCA. 


A    PILGRIMAGE    TWO    HUNDRED    YEARS    AGa 


barren  cause  prolific.  It  has  been  the  mother 
of  great  men  and  great  nations.  Little  did 
Champlain  imagine,  when  he  prohibited  the 
psalms  of  the  Huguenots  on  the  St.  Law- 
rence, that  a  few  more  years  would  see  the 
Jkur-de-lis  lowered  forever  from  the  city  he 
founded;  and  France,  once  the  mistress  of 
the  whole  American  continent  north  of  Mex- 
ico, reduced  to  a  few  fishing-islands,  equal  to  a 


square  of  fifteen  miles !  There  that  little  rem- 
nant of  French- American  territory  lies,  as  if  to 
remind  us  of  the  past  glory  of  a  noble  nation. 
Amid  all  these  vicissitudes,  our  little  Canadian 
shrine  has  slept  its  Rip  van  Winkle  sleep;  until 
to-day,  with  the  revival  in  Europe  of  the  medi- 
aeval trust  in  miracles,  and  in  the  efficacy  of  pil- 
grimages, an  effort  is  here  being  made  to  waken 
the  Canadian  mind  to  the  belief  that  La  Bonne 


/ 


THE   CANADIAN  MECCA. 


Ste.  Anne  is  as  advantageous  to  faith  as 
Michael  Angelo  believed  the  climate  of 
Arezzo  was  favors,  ble  to  genius.  There  was 
no  obstacle  at  anj  time  in  Canada  to  the 
full  development  of  the  (iallican  church  of 
France ;  and  it  is  no  wonder  that  pilgrimages 
should  become  an  institution  of  the  old  French 
province,  and  that  it  should 
\  #^  be  claimed  that  more  miracles 
have  been  wrought  through 
the  relics  of  a  dead  saint  than 
are  known  to  have  been  per- 


-■Xc^:^^' 


£.0!" 


PILGRIMS    ON    THE    c6tE    DE    BEAUPRA. 


formed  by  Christ.  Though  Quebec  city,  with 
its  sixty  dioceses,  is  mentioned  in  a  bull  of 
Pius  IX.  as  the  metropolis  of  the  church  in 
America,  you  will  need  to  rub  your  eyes  to 
make  sure  that  you  are  not  in  Belgium.  Un- 
der the  French  regime  it  was  the  heart  of  the 
colony,  and  was  a  spiritual  as  well  as  a  mate- 
rial fortress.  Ste.  Anne  de  Beaupre  was  one 
of  its  outposts. 

But  who  was  this  saint  so  revered  long  ago 
by  the  Canadian  voyageiir  and  habitant,  and 
whose  intercession,  all  the  world  over,  now 
seems  to  be  supplanting  that  of  all  other 
saints  ?  It  might  be  enough  to  know  that,  in 
1876,  the  Pope  declared  Ste.  Anne  to  be 
patroness  of  the  Province  of  Quebec,  though 
it  is  not  stated  how  this  aifl-cts  the  claim  of 
St.  Joseph,  who   has   lor.j  "i  the  pacron 

of  all   Canada.    But   who  Ste.    Anne  ?  ■ 

Tradition  says  she  was   tl  /ther  of  the 

Virgin  Mary,  bom  of  one  v.  le  family  of 
David,  and  that  her  mother  haci  predicted  the 
birth  through  her  of  the  Saviour.  Having 
died  at  Jerusalem,  she  was  buried  in  the 
family  vault.  When  you  are  at  our  Canadian 
shrine  you  may  see,  in  a  little  glass  case, 
a  confused  mass  of  dried,  broken  bones,  which 
you  are  told  are  those  of  the  saint.  You  will 
naturally  be  curious  to  know  how  they  got 
out  of  the  family  vault  in  Jerusalem  into  a 
little  hamlet  in  Canada,  In  the  time  of  Mar- 
cus Aurelius,  the  infidels  destroyed  all  the 
monuments  in  the  Holy  Land,  but,  "  ac- 
cording   to   tradition,"  one  coffin   could   be 


THE   CANADIAN  MECCA. 


neither  burned  nor  opened,  and  being  thrown 
into  the  sea,  floated  off  to  the  town  of  Apt,  in 
Provence,  where  it  lay  for  a  long  time  buried 
in  the  sand.  One  tlay  some  fishermen  caught 
in  their  net  an  enormous  fish,  which  clearly 
by  its  actions  showed  that  fishes  have  in- 
stinct and  reason,  and  that  St.  Anthony  knew 
more  than  we  give  him  credit  for,  when  he 
preached  to  them.  This  fish  struggled  so  hard 
that  it  made  a  deep  hole  in  the  sand  on  the 
shore,  and  when  the  fishermen  dragged  it 
out,  the  coffin  of  Ste.  Anne  appeared  in  the 
hole.  No  one  in  Apt  could  open  the  coffin. 
The  bishop  Aurelius  placed  it  in  a  crypt,  put 


its  as.sociaiions  with  our  Canadian  shrine 
made  the  visit  one  of  much  interest.  I  must 
say,  however,  that  the  Canadian  pilgrimages 
are  never  the  scene  of  such  debauchery  as 
those  in  Brittany,  for  the  devil  seemed  to 
have  made  it  his  holiday  at  the  tv/o  Old- 
World  pilgrimages  witnessed  by  me.  Relig- 
ious ceremonies  clashed  with  vulgar  open-air 
dancing,  and  peasants  who  had  just  kissed 
the  saindy  relics,  came  out  of  church  and 
boastingly  swallowed  brandy,  glass  after  glass, 
in  a  deliberate  effort  to  make  themselves 
drunk. 

Our  Canadian  Mecca  has  an  authentic  date 


A    YOUNG    1-ILGRI.M     IN    AN    OLD    CKADLE. 


a  burning  lamp  before  it,  and  had  it  hermetic- 
ally walled  up.  Seven  hundred  years  later, 
Charlemagne,  moved  by  the  appeal  of  a  deaf 
and  dumb  boy,  caused  a  certain  wall  to  be 
destroyed,  in  which  the  coffin  was  found. 

I  remember  visiting  a  beautiful  cathedral 
in  Apt,  on  the  bank  of  the  Calavon,  said  to 
have  been  erected  on  the  exact  spot  where 
the  fish  leaped  and  the  coffin  was  found.  A 
short  journey  from  the  Celtic  monuments  of 
Carnac,  in  Brittany,  is  the  little  hamlet  of 
Ste.  Anne  d'Auray,  the  most  famous  shrine 
of  the  saint  in  the  world.  On  a  fete-day,  a  few 
years  ago,  I  saw  the  special  pilgrimage,  and 


back  to  1658.  A  habitant  of  Petit  Cap  gave 
the  parish  priest  of  Quebec  a  portion  of  land, 
upon  condition  that  in  that  year  a  church 
should  be  begun  on  the  spot.  The  site  was 
accepted,  duly  consecrated,  and  dedicated  to 
Ste.  Anne,  the  patroness  of  sailors.  The  foun- 
dation-stone was  laid  by  the  French  governor. 
It  is  said  that  a  peasant  of  Beaupre,  who  had 
"  pains  in  his  loins,"  went,  out  of  devotion,  to 
lay  three  stones  of  the  foundation,  and  was 
suddenly  cured ;  and  that  a  woman  who  had 
been  bent  double  for  eight  months  by  some 
affliction  began  to  invoke  the  saint  as  soon  as 
she  heard  of  the  miracle,  and  was  "  instandy 


THE  CANADIAN  MECCA. 


PILGRIMS    AND    STRANGERS. 


THE   CANADIAN  MFXCA. 


able  to  stand  on  her  feet,  and  as  well  able  to 
move  all  her  limbs  as  she  had  ever  been." 
Miracle  after  miracle  follovveil,  until  the  sleepy 
little  hollow  was  the  talk  of  all  New  France. 
Soldiers,  as  they  paced  their  beat  on  the  fort, 
looked  down  the  river  as  if  they  expei  ted  t(j 
see  a  vi.sion.  The  peasantry  grouped  together 
in  large  family  circles,  just  as  they  love  to  dc 
to-day,  and  as  the  big  logs  cra<kled  in  the 
great  fire-place,  some  one  who  had  been  to 
the  shrine  recounted  his  experience  and  gave 
reins  to  his  imagination,  and  all  |/iously  crossed 
themselves  when  he  hail  concluded.  Tilgrims 
flocked  to  the  New-\v'orld  wonder  on  the  St. 
Lawrence,  and  during  the  seventeenth  cent- 
ury there  were  never  less  than  a  thousand  on 


imagine  the  thrill  of  wonder  which  would  run 
through  the  minils  of  the  simple  peasantry, 
and  the  superstitious  voya);eiirs,  when  the 
miracles  were  told. 

It  was  not  with  the  touching  and  simple 
spirit  which  led  many  to  flock  to  the  holy 
])lace  in  Jerusalem,  in  the  time  of  the  old 
Jewish  law,  that  I  went  to  La  Bonne  Ste. 
Anne.  Nor  was  it  with  the  unciuestioning  de- 
votion of  the  Canadian  peasant.  I  was  simply 
a  holiday  lounger  in  search  of  the  picturesque, 
with  no  more  faith  in  La  Bonne  Ste.  Anne 
than  in  tlie  dozens  of  other  shrines  I  had 
seen  in  Europe,  and  with  a  strong  belief  in 
the  statements  that,  after  the  Crusades,  innu- 
merable relics  were  sola  to  the  Latins  by  the 


A    CANADIAN     INTERIOR. 


the  feast-day  of  Ste.  Anne.  At  all  seasons  of 
the  year,  individual  pilgrims  were  seen  going 
afoot  along  the  Cote  de  Beaupre,  and  in  win- 
ter in  their  sleighs  on  the  frozen  river.  The 
Micmac  Indians  came  regularly  from  New 
Brunswick  for  trade,  and  before  feast-days 
their  canoes  were  seen  coming  up  stream  to 
the  shrine,  where  they  built  birch-bark  huts  to 
shelter  the  pilgrims.  In  fact,  the  whole  coun- 
try was  excited  by  the  mystery,  and  many 
churches  were  built  in  honor  of  the  saint.  It 
was  a  regular  custom  of  vessels  ascending 
the  St.  Lawrence  to  fire  a  broadside  salute 
when  passing  the  place.  We  who  live  in  this 
age  of  electricity,  and  who  atfect  to  be  beyond 
astonishment,  but  gape  at  every  new  sensa- 
tion as  if  the  world  was  yet  in  its  teens,  may 


cunning  Greeks  and  Syrians,  and  that  several 
skulls  of  the  same  saint  were  found  within  a 
hundred  miles  of  each  other.  What  I  had 
seen  of  the  pilgrimages  in  Brittany  and  Bel- 
gium did  not  raise  them  in  my  estimation. 
The  picturesque  in  Brittany  could  not  conceal 
the  dirt  and  mental  degradation.  I  remem- 
bered, too,  an  incident  upon  the  arrival  of  our 
train,  when  little  Breton  boys  and  girls  met 
us  with  offers,  for  a  sou,  to  say  prayers  for 
us.  One  who  is  familiar  with  the  many  genial 
and  admirable  traits  of  the  French-Canadian 
peasantry,  the  superior  moral  and  spiritual 
tone,  and  the  respectability,  cleanliness,  and 
sobriety  which  put  them  above  the  same  class 
of  Continental  people,  would  have  no  thought 
of  seeing  here   the  vice  and   licentiousness 


THE   CANADIAN  MECCA. 


common  to  the  Breton  gatherings.  The 
French-Canadian  peasant  may  not  know  how 
to  read ;  he  may  fear  the  spiritual  threats  of 
his  priest  more  than  the  punishment  of  the 
civil  law ;  hut  as  a  rule  he  is  a  peaceful  Chris- 
tian according  to  his  light.  Ste.  Anne,  to  many 
of  them,  is  as  sacred  as  was  Jerusalem  to  the 
Jews,  and  no  doubt  our  good  countryman  pities 
and  prays  for  me  and  my  heresy;  and,  had  he 
been  born  a  Mohammedan,  would  no  doubt 
have  believed  that  he  who  died  without  mak- 
ing a  pilgrimnorp  to  Mecca  might  as  well  die 
a  Jew  or  a  Christian. 

Almost  any  morning  in  summer  you  may 
get  the  early  boat  just  below  Dufferin  Terrace, 
and  see  dozens  of  quiet  peop'e  muttering 
their  devotions  to  themselves,  each  carrying 
his  or  her  burden  of  trouble  to  Ste.  Anne. 
The  crowded  pilgrimages  which  are  under- 
taken by  whole  parishes  en  masse  have  mych 
the  appearance  of  an  ordinary  picnic,  and 
most  of  the  pilgrims  suggest  the  idea  that 
they  come  "  more  for  the  green  way  than  for 
devotion."  But  you  cannot  mistake  ihe  sin- 
cerity and  superstition  of  those  individual 
pilgrims  who  go  down  to  the  shrine  without 
ostentation.  They  are  mostly  women,  many 
widows,  and  nearly  all  dressed  in  the  con- 
ventional black  dress,  with  black  bonnet  and 
long  crape  veil.  You  may  go  down  by  steamer 
or  by  road.  If  you  go  by  water  you  can  study 
these  people  better;  but  when  you  see  the  rich 
landscape  you  will  wish  you  had  taken  the 
road ;  from  the  C6te  de  Beaupre  you  see  the 
lovely  water-scape,  and  then  you  will  wish  you 
had  gone  by  steamer;  so  I  will  indulge  you  in 
both.  We  need  no  scrip,  staff,  or  scallop-shell ; 
no  unshod  feet — though  once  I  saw  a  bare- 
footed pilgrimage  below  Cacouna;  no  gray 
gabardine  girt  with  cincture;  no  asceticism, 
but  a  comfortable  steamer  or  a  double  car- 
riage, with  every  modern  comfort  cheek-by- 
jowl  with  much  mediaeval  usage. 

The  river  was  alive  with  boats,  steamers, 
barges.  Half  a  dozen  steam-yachts,  used  as 
tugs,  were  puffing  consequentially,  and  scud- 
ding between  Quebec  and  Pointe  Levi.  One 
little  David  had  steamed  up  to  a  Goliath  of  a 
ship  which  had  just  crossed  the  Atlantic,  and 
had  taken  the  conceit  out  of  the  monster  by 
lashing  itself  in  some  way  to  its  side  and  puff- 
ing up  the  river  with  it,  like  a  dwarf  arresting 
a  giant.  After  the  usual  jargon  we  were  off, 
and  had  time  to  look  about  among  our  pas- 
sengers. They  were  mostly  pilgrims,  and  all 
French  of  the  poorer  class.  But,  no  matter 
how  poor,  the  French-Canadian  is  a  model 
of  tidiness.  Like  a  sunflower  amid  ivy,  there 
was  the  traditional  young  man  from  the 
country,  arrayed,  on  a  hot  day,  in  black  kid 
gloves,  a  flower  in  his  coat,  and  a  feather  in 


his  cap.  Beside  him — very  much  beside  him 
— his  "own  sweet  Clenevieve,"  blushing  in 
colors  enough  to  make  the  rainbow  pale,  and 
every  part  of  her  jacket  and  the  white  veil 
over  her  face  covered  with  little  bits  of  red 
glass  balls ;  a  poor  mother,  holding  a  sick 
child  in  her  arms,  walking  up  and  down  the 
deck  in  a  sort  of  penitential  agony,  and  refus- 
ing any  help,  though  many  of  the  kind- 
hearted  women  proffered  their  aid ;  several 
very  desolate-looking  widows.  I  had  been 
tokl  that  few,  if  any,  ever  went  to  Ste.  Anne's 
to  return  thanks  for  blessings  received,  but  the 
uncharitable  statement  was  here  refuted,  for 
several  poor  women  were  en  route  especially 
to  express  gratitude  for  the  recovery  of  per- 
sonal health.  One  dear  old  lady,  rheumatic 
and  almost  blind,  was  led  about  tenderly  uy  her 
son.  As  I  saw  her  thin  gray  hair  and  bended 
frame,  and  watched  the  affection  of  her  boy, 
my  heretical  spirit  found  a  feeling  that  made 
us  kin,  and,  while  refusing  to  believe  in  Ste. 
Anne,  I  prayed  inwardly  for  her  recovery.  I 
would  ha\e  sung  my  paeans  of  praise  hail 
the  dear  old  soul  found  the  fountain  of 
youth  in  the  waters  of  Ste.  Anne,  and  had  she 
been  able  to  leave  her  crutch  among  those  on 
the  pyramid  in  the  church.  Alas  I  I  saw  her 
returning  in  the  afternoon  more  feeble  than 
when  she  came.  One  pale,  thin  girl  had 
fasted  for  five  days,  having  read  that,  like 
Moses  and  Elias,  Ste.  Anne  and  her  husband 
fasted  entirely  for  forty  days,  "  and  wept  per- 
petually." A  girl  with  inflamed  and  bandaged 
eyes  v,'as  going  with  her  father  to  perform  a 
fim'enii,  or  nine  days'  religious  exercise. 
Two  nuns  were  chatting  together ;  a  solemn 
servant  cf  some  convent  held  in  one  hand  a 
five-miiiute  sand-glass,  which  she  turned  as 
the  sand  ran  out,  saying  her  prayers  at  the 
same  time.  Two  rubicund  priests  promenaded 
the  ileck.  The  rest  of  the  pilgrims  were  fair 
types  of  the  ordinary  peasant,  and  were  either 
ignorant  or  weak-minded. 

Look  at  the  splendid  scenery  before,  be- 
hind, on  either  side.  The  Isle  of  Orleans, 
with  its  broad  brow,  is  in  front.  The  ships 
for  England  sail  off  to  the  southern  channel. 
One  fancies  he  can  smell  the  sea  here,  and 
it  may  not  be  mere  fancy,  for  the  tide  rises 
ninety  miles  above  Quebec,  and  the  water 
is  brackish.  It  is  out  this  morning,  and  there 
along  the  shore  and  up  among  the  shiny 
rocks,  the  bateaux  and  wood-boats  lie  waiting 
for  the  flow.  Just  below  us,  as  we  keep  to 
the  left  of  Orleans,  we  meet  two  steamers 
tugging  two  great  rafts,  and  the  hardy  Indian 
and  French  voyageurs  wave  their  hats  to  us. 
There  lies  the  Church  of  St.  Pierre,  upon 
the  hill  of  Minigo,  as  the  Indians  called 
Orleans,  built  one  hundred  and  twelve  years 


THE   CANADIAN  MECCA. 


MOUNT    STE.    ANNE. 


ago,  on  the  site  of  a  chapel  erected  \\\  1651. 
Looking  to  the  left  now,  we  see  Montmo- 
renci  Falls,  shining  in  the  morning  sun  like 
a  broad  ribbon  of  molten  silver,  the  dark 
shadows  of  the  right  bank  casting  long  lines 
of  gloom  into  the  glen.  As  we  pass  the  falls, 
we  are  wedging  in  between  Orleans  on  the 
right,  and  gaps  and  grooves  on  the  main-land 
to  the  left,  eaten  by  ice  and  rains.  Zigzag  foot- 
paths run  up  to  the  hill-tops  from  the  river 
and  road-side ;  narrow  strips  of  land,  fenced 
into  all  sorts  of  geometrical  figures,  straggle 
up  over  the  hills  into  the  horizon ;  clumps 
of  pines  are  seen  along  the  shore ;  and  above 
and  about  the  trees  are  the  picturesque  white 
farm-houses,  with  their  gray,  brown,  and  red 


roofs — a  perfect  chain,  long  drawn  out,  of 
quaint  hamlets  set  in  frames  of  mountain 
and  river;  peeps  of  the  blue  Laurentian 
Mountains  far  behind;  the  w^hite  houses  of 
Chateau  Richer  hugging  the  shore ;  and  be- 
hind them  the  hills  rolling  up  into  waves 
of  land,  until  they  run  to  a  peak  of  two  thou- 
sand six  hundred  and  eighty-seven  feet  to 
form  Mount  Ste.  Anne,  then  droop  into  the 
valley.,,  and  again  run  up  against  the  blue 
sky  to  fonn  the  home  of  the  bear  and 
the  blue-berry — Cape  Tourmente.  Here  and 
there  you  see  the  stone  churches  and  bright 
spires,  both  on  the  main-land  and  on  the 
island.  Look  back  now  from  the  stem.  I 
once  heard  a  world-wide  traveler  say  he  had 


THE   CANADIAN  MECCA. 


never  anywhere  seen  such  a  picture  as  this 
view  back  at  the  city.  Quebec  and  i'ointe  Levi 
seem  to  be  blended  in  one  semicircular  bay 
of  bright  waterjapping  a  da/zHng  array  of  ght- 
tering  gems.  The  citadel  looks  clear  c  ut,  as  if 
its  masonry  had  been  run  into  a  mold.  We  see 
barges,  with  loads  of  hay  or  wootl,  and  with 
only  two  hands  on  board,  trusting  to  a  rough 
sail  and  a  stout  oar  to  get  to  their  destina- 
tion ;  fresh-water  sailors  in  heavy  boats,  push- 
ing their  oars  before  them  as  they  face  the 
bow,  as  one  sees  so  often  on  Continental  rivers 
and  as  often  elsewhere  on  the  St.  Lawrence, 
about  Quebec.  The  Isle  of  Orleans  reposes 
like  an  emerald  in  the  water  at  the  point 
where  the  fate  of  a  continent  was  decided. 
There  on  its  bosom  St.  Fran{,ois  sleeps,  as  if 
the  dread  Irocpaois  had  never  yelled  their  war- 
whoop  on  its  hills ;  and  if  history  has  no  echoes 
to  stir  you,  come  with  me  from  that  quiet 
little  hamlet  some  autumn,  with  gun  and  rr/d, 
on  the  broad  meadows  of  Argentenay,  or 
among  the  marshes  of  the  Chateau  Richer, 
and  I  will  promise  you  as  fine  a  bag  of  snipe 
and  duck  as  you  can  get  anywhere  within 
sight  of  civilization  on  this  side  of  New 
Brunswick.  What  feasts  of  wild  fowl,  what 
epicurean  relishes  with  Parisian  cookery,  they 
must  have  had  in  the  way  of  game  when 
peace  reigned  in  the  old  chateau  of  St.  Louis 
on  the  rock,  the  castle  of  the  French  gov- 
ernor, and  life  in  this  part  of  New  France, 
brilliant  with  the  wit  and  song  of  the  nobility 
of  Louis  XIV.,  was  more  feasting  than  fast- 
ing ;  when  Orleans  was  called  the  Isle  of 
Bacchus,  because  of  its  great  grape-vines,  and 
of  the  fish,  honey,  and  melons  with  which  the 
red-skins  regaled  Jacques  Cartier.  I  wonder 
Parisian  wit  did  not  try  upon  the  Indian 
the  civilizing  influence  of  Parisian  cookery; 
for  it  is  related  of  a  convert  who  lay  at  the 
point  of  death  that  he  anxiously  inquired 
if,  in  the  pale-face  heaven  to  which  he  was 
going,  he  would  get  pies  to  equal  those 
which  the  French  had  given  him.  All  about 
here — on  mountain,  in  valley,  on  island,  on 
river — you  can  trace  the  richest  pages  of  Ca- 
nadian and  much  of  American  history.  Mem- 
ories of  Jacques  Cartier,  Sir  Wilham  Phipps, 
Champlain,  Frontenac,  Wolfe,  Montcalm, 
Carleton,  Arnold,  Montgomery,  Murray,  rise 
from  the  surroundings.  And  then  you  may 
come  down  from  your  imagining  and  see 
Huron  and  Iroquois  merging  into  French 
and  English,  and  the  queer  jumble  of  Indian, 
Norman,  Breton,  English,  in  name,  in  face, 
in  speech,  in  religion,  slowly  but  surely  blend- 
ing, as  the  centuries  roll  away,  to  form  one 
people.  Is  it  not  a  bit  of  early  British  his- 
tory— the  story  of  the  Norman,  Dane,  and 
Saxon — ^being  repeated  in  the  New  World  ? 
Vol.  XXIV.— 2. 


But  now  we  see  the  sun  playing  on  the 
convent-spire  of  Ste.  .\nne;  Cape  Tourmente 
an(,l  Orleans  seem  to  meet,  and  the  ri\er  has 
the  appearance  of  a  great  bay.  Long  ribbons 
of  the  characteristic  Canadian  fence  run 
crookedly  up  to  the  crest  of  j)ines;  a  fringe 
of  houses  lies  along  the  shore.  And  now  the 
main-land  and  the  island  divide;  the  open 
river  shows  the  line  of  the  hazy  shore  down- 
stream, anrl  we  ar,-  approaching  the  long 
wharf  and  the  toll-gatherer  of  our  Mecca. 
But  come  back  with  me  to  (Quebec,  and  drive 
through  the  romantic  hamlets  of  the  Cote  de 
Beaupre,  with  its  endless  interest  in  life,  char- 


ay   THE    ROAD-SIDE. 


lO 


THE   CANADIAN  MECCA. 


acter,  and  scenery.  This  is  by  far  the  most 
charming  way  to  visit  Ste.  Anne's,  especially 
if  you  have  good  company,  if  you  like  walking, 
and  can  talk  i\\c  paiois.  If,  too,  you  ever  have 
walked  through  Normandy  and  Brittany,  you 
can  find  no  more  fascinating  trip  for  its  asso- 
ciations than  this  Cote  de  Beaupre.  If  you  are 
fresh  from  the  story  of  "  Evangeline,"  you  will 
enjoy  it  doubly,  for  though  the  people  are 
losing  a  good  deal  of  their  picturescjue  char- 
acter, and  you  will  rarely  see  the  toijue  bleu  of 
the  habitant,  yet  in  the  same  room  you  may 
often  see  grandmother  at  her  spinning-wheel 
and  granddaughter  at  her  sewing-machine ; 
you  may  cut  into  by-ways,  and  even  get  peeps 
into  the  low-roofed  and  high-peaked  houses 
as  you  pass,  that  will  bring  back  the  poet's 
words  and  carry  you  into  the  eighteenth  cent- 
ury. There  are  old  men  and  old  women,  old 
houses  and  old  habits,  old  agricultural  aiid 
domestic  implements  and  furniture,  and  old 
china  enough  to  gladden  the  heart  of  any 
antujuarian.  I  fear,  though,  that  the  i)rovince 
is  being  stripped  of  its  old  clocks. 

This  trip  l)y  land  is  delightful.  Early  one 
morning  we  left  the  St.  Louis  Hotel  in  Quebec. 
If  you  are  going  ten  miles  into  the  country 
here,  you  are  sure  to  receive  "  bon  voyage !  " 
as  often  as  if  you  were  going  to  Hong-Kong. 
Passing  through  St.  Roche's  and  crossing  the 
bridge  over  the  St.  Charles  River,  we  were 
soon  out  in  the  open  country.  We  were  at 
once  iruck  with  the  fondness  of  the  people 
for  f  owers.  Little  squares  and  bits  of  land  are 
de'  ed  to  their  culture.  They  hang  from 
gallery  and  window,  around  wall  and  well, 
and  grow  in  wooden  boxes,  old  jars,  and 
miniature  birch-bark  canoes.  Big  and  beauti- 
ful dahlias  of  aii  colors  nod  their  full  heads 
to  us;  the  marigold,  whose  seeds  were  brought 
from  f>ance  by  the  early  explorers;  the  holly- 
hock, fox-glove,  China-aster,  and  Normandy's 
flaming  favorite,  the  sunflower,  and  other  old- 
fashioned  flowers  of  old-fashioned  people, 
beautify  and  brighten  the  surroundings.  Little 
houses,  like  stables,  often  just  big  enough  to 
shelter  a  cow  or  a  horse,  and  little  gardens, 
are  characteristic  of  this  truly  Canadian  road. 
Springs  of  crystal  water  run  down  the  hill 
into  troughs  for  the  horses,  as  in  Swiss  vil- 
lages. All  along  for  miles  from  Beaupre,  the 
hill-side  is  luxuriant  with  wild  plums,  which 
are  gathered  and  sent  to  the  city  market. 

Along  this  road  you  will  see  some  of  the 
choicest  specimens  of  the  early  French  farm- 
houses, built  of  rough  stone  and  mortar,  with 
high-peaked  roof  and  big  chimney,  often  built 
out  beyond  the  level  of  the  gable,  and  with 
projecting  eaves  and  dormer-windows.  Some 
of  these  old  houses  are  contemporaneous  with 
the  conquest  of  Canada.    Most  of  them  are 


close  to  the  road,  and  the  fences  on  each  side 
are  as  a  rule  very  ragged,  except  among  the 
best  farmers.  Little  picket-fences,  some  of  them 
over  a  century  old,  are  characteristic — many 
of  them  so  tattered  that  they  remind  you  of 
the  broken  hedges  of  Tipperary,  where,  when 
a  pig  goes  through  a  hole,  he  finds  he  is  still 
on  the  same  side  of  the  hedge.  The  tall 
Lombardy  poplar  is  an  old-time  favorite  of 
the  Canadian  farmer.  Some  of  the  stables 
and  barns  have  thatched  roofs  and  a  peculiar 
projection,  at  the  gable  or  at  the  sides,  sev- 
eral feet  beyond  the  line  of  th'^  foundation. 
At  the  same  time  you  can  see  here  as  fine 
modern  farm-houses  and  bams  as  in  any 
other  part  of  the  province. 

Montmorenci  Falls  is  the  first  rest.  Then 
you  have  a  charming  drive  over  the  hills  until 
you  come  to  the  quaint  hamlet  of  Ange  Gar- 
(lien,  where  there  is  a  small  oratory  at  the 
entrance  and  another  at  the  exit,  and  in  the 
middle  of  the  village  the  old  church.  As  our 
carriage  rolls  on,  little  boys  and  girls  with  bare 
head  and  feet  chase  beside  us,  holding  out 
bouquets  in  the  hope  that  we  will  buy.  They 
do  not  turn  hand-springs  like  the  waifs  who 
follow  the  traveler's  carriage  in  England. 
Sometimes  children  offer  you  a  glass  of  spring- 
water,  or  raspberries  or  strawberries  in  cones 
of  birch-bark.  They  are  an  improvement 
upon  the  way-side  beggars  of  Savoi  in  Switz- 
erland; for  our  Canadians  have  not  arrived 
at  the  high  art  of  mendicancy — singing  songs 
in  groups,  chanting  ballads  in  honor  of  Ste. 
Anne,  or  blowing  Laurentian  horns  in  lieu  of 
Alpine.  The  children  one  meets  on  this  road 
are  most  interesting.  The  Cote  de  Beaupr6 
is  historically  prolific  in  babies,  and  you  may 
see  many  charming  children,  such  as  one 
diminutive  artist  in  mud-pies,  or  the  little 
vagabond  who  roosts  on  the  fence  and  sings 
out  his  "  Bon  jour.  Monsieur"  as  you  pass; 
or  the  three  little  graces  whom  we  meet  com- 
ing out  of  school,  in  their  pretty  Canadian 
hats  and  aprons.  And  here  are  two  genuine 
rustic  boys  from  the  hill-tops,  going  to  Ste. 
Anne's  to  sell  bottles  at  the  holy  fountain. 
You  will  never  forget  the  native  courtesy  of 
these  little  men  and  women,  as  they  doff  their 
hats  or  courtesy  to  you.  The  grace,  the  look 
of  the  eye,  and  the  movement  of  the  body — 
surely  it  is  nature's  own,  and  la  belle  France 
can  show  none  lovelier. 

One  of  the  institutions  of  this  road  is  the 
healthy  beggar,  who  is  usually  a  good  pedes- 
trian, and  with  no  such  show  of  feigned  afflic- 
tion as  the  fraternity  of  the  south  and  west 
of  Ireland.  Generally  they  are  masterpieces 
of  patchwork.  Invariably  they  are  as  dirty  as 
Bretons.  Every  village  has  its  tolerated  staff 
of  these  creatures,  who  go  about  as  if  they 


( 


THE   CANADIAN  MECCA. 


XI 


had  some  sort  of  succession  from  the  beggars 
of  scriptural  times.  If  the  apostles  had  lived 
in  our  day  and  traveled  on  the  road  to  Ste. 
Anne,  they  would  not  have  had  to  go  out 
into  the  lanes  to  bring  in  the  beggars.  The 
beggars  would  have  swarmed  on  the  road  to 
welcome  the  apostles. 

If  you  have  seen  the  dogs  used  in  small 
carts  in  Belgium  by  the  market-peddlers,  either 
tandem  or  abreast,  you  will  recognize  their 
neal  descendants  along  the  Cote  de  Beau- 
pr6.  Even  the  women  who  drive  them  will 
remind  you  cf  Ghent  and  Bruges.  These 
dogs  are  to  the  peasant  here  what  the  pig  is 
to  the  peasant  of  Munster.  They  lie  on  the 
galleries  or  sun  themselves  undisturbed  at  the 
door,  and  are  allowed  the  run  of  the  house. 
They  are  large  black  mastiffs,  patient  beasts 
of  burden,  without  enterprise  enough  to  bark. 
They  do  a  great  deal  of  hard  work,  are  more 
domesticated  than  the  coolie,  and  a  sort  of 
aid-de-camp  to  the  horse  at  whose  heels,  or 
under  whose  cart,  they  trot.  Near  them  sits 
an  old  lady  on  a  bench  knitting  socks,  wear- 
ing a  cap  the  fashion  of  which  her  great-grand- 
mother brought  from  St.  Malo. 

In  a  few  moments  we  trot  into  the  heart  of 
our  Mecca  and  pull  up  at  "  The  Retreat,"  a 
cozy  and  clean  hotel,  kept  by  an  English  fam- 
ily who  are  as  intelligent  as  they  are  hospita- 
ble. Mine  host  has  a  telegraphic  instrument  in 
the  house.  It  was  regarded  with  superstition 
by  the  habitant,  whereas  it  is  one  of  supersti- 
tion's worst  foes.  We  had  arrived  several 
hours  before  an  expected  grand  pilgrimage 
coming  down  the  river  in  chartered  steamers, 
like  the  traines  de  piete  at  Lourdes.  The  vil  • 
lage  consists  of  one  long  street,  and,  were  it 
paved  with  stone,  would  bear  a  strong  resem- 
blance to  village  streets  in  Switzerland,  with 
the  projecting  signs,  gables,  and  galleries  of 
the  many  little  aiiberi::;es.  Every  house  is  an 
improvised  inn,  and  all  the  fishemien  are  am- 
ateur inn-keepers.  The  street  lies  at  the  foot 
of  the  hill,  and,  as  you  go  through  it,  you 
will  see  faces  and  figures  that  constantly  re- 
mind you  of  the  coarse  women  seen  in  similar 
streets  in  Swiss  villages.  Most  French-Cana- 
dian country-women  become  stout  and  wrin- 
kled in  middle  life,  owing  to  the  excessive 
heat  of  the  houses  in  winter,  badly  cooked 
food,  and  hard  work  ;  but  those  who  have  to 
go  up  and  down  these  steep  hills  become 
especially  clumsy.  It  is  wonderful  to  see 
these  heavy  women  going  up  the  zigzag  hill- 
roads,  swinging  their  arms  at  right  angles 
from  their  shoulders,  and  climbing  fences 
like  a  man. 

One  of  the  characters  of  Ste.  Anne  is  our 
jolly  harness  and  shoe  maker — a  woman  on 
the  shady  side  of  sixty.    If  her  deportment  has 


been  neglected,  she  is  thoroughly  honest  and 
happy,  as  she  smokes  her  clay  pipe  and 
shoves  her  spectacles  up  on  her  forehead  to 
take  a  better  look  at  her  visitors.  You  may 
laugh  at  her  ancient  cap,  but  if  you  could 
find  out  why  she  laughs  at  you,  you  would 
learn  that  she  laughs  at  your  modern  bonnet. 
Just  over  the  way  we  saw,  through  an  open 
window,  a  real  live  Evangeline,  in  her  jiretty 
Norman  cap,  at  a  spinning-wheel. 

Let  us  walk  down  to  the  other  end  of  the 
village:  what  has  become  of  the  ancient  church 
built  in  1660  ?  To  the  right  of  the  road 
stands  a  large  structure  a  few  years  old,  disa- 
greeable in  its  ostentatious  modernness.  What 
right  had  they  ruthlessly  to  destroy  the  old 
one  ?  We  are  told  that  the  walls  were  crack- 
ing. So  much  the  better.  To  the  left  stands 
a  small  chapel,  also  modern,  yet  wearing  a 
genial  aged  look.  This  was  built  out  of  the 
stones  c^'"  the  ancient  chapel.  The  pictur- 
esque double  bell-tower  of  the  old  building 
surmounts  this  chapel,  and  a  part  of  the  old 
interior  was  utilized,  but  one  misses  the  plain 
fa(;ade,  with  its  rose-window  and  its  Norman 
doors;  gone  altogether  is  the  atmosphere  of 
antiquity  which  hovered  about  the  old  in- 
terior. 

Look  down  the  road  toward  "  The  Re- 
treat." Is  it  not  as  if  you  were  transported  to 
a  Swiss  village  ?  Painted  on  the  gable-end  of 
one  house,  you  read  :  "  Ici  Bonne  Maison 
DE  Pension."  And  there,  fastened  to  a  stable, 
is  the  sign  :  "  Bureu  de  Poste  Ofcie,"  in 
very  unclassical  French.  And  what  is  this 
huge  sign  projecting  out  into  the  street  ? 
"  E.  Lachance,  Epcjx  de  Dlle.  Mercier. 
Maison  de  Pension"  (E.  Lachance,  hus- 
band of  Miss  Mercier.  Boarding-house).  And 
next  door  has  another,  surmounted  by  a  fish  : 
"  Maison  de  Pension.  Dlle.  Mercier." 
Thereby  hangs  a  tale  :  The  house  of  Mercier 
had  two  daughters,  one  of  them  "  fair,  fat, 
and  forty,"  who  was  the  belle  of  the  parish. 
Many  a  pilgrim  from  Quebec  went  to 
Ste.  Anne  more  to  see  this  maiden  than  to 
pray.  An  enterprising  rival,  who  kept  the 
hotel  next  door,  cast  sheep's-eyes  upon  the 
goddess ;  she  succumbed,  and  became  his 
wife,  and  transferred  her  interest  in  the  hotel 
business  to  her  liege  lord.  The  old  house  still 
kept  up  the  old  sign  of  "  Miss  Mercier,"  and 
the  ingenious  benedict  took  down  his  old  one 
and  had  it  repainted,  so  as  to  announce  to  the 
world  that  he  had  married,  and  was  in  posses- 
sion of  the  great  attraction  of  the  rival  house. 

But  there  the  steamers  come,  and  soon  two 
thousand  pilgrims  land  on  the  wharf.  A  brass 
band  leads  the  way,  and  the  people  file  up  in 
long  procession,  dusty  but  devoted,  many,  no 
doubt,  with  mingled  hopes  and  fears.    Over 


12 


THE  CANADIAN  MECCA. 


THE    OLD    CHURCH. 


forty  cripples  limp  along  on  crutches,  or  sup- 
ported by  friends,  and  a  pitiable  sight  it  is.  The 
procession  enters  the  new  church,  where,  at 
the  high  altar  and  at  the  sides,  a  number  of 
priests  preside.  As  you  enter,  you  see  a  large 
money-box,  of  ancient  date  and  curious  con- 
struction, fastened  to  a  pillar  by  iron  stan- 
chions. The  quaint  padlock  is  opened  by  an 
old-fashioned  bed-key.  Over  the  side  doors 
are  rude  ex  voto  paintings,  representing  won- 
derful rescues  from  peril  by  water  through 
intercession  to  Ste.  Anne.  Over  the  altar  is  a 
picture  of  the  saint  by  Le  Brun,  the  eminent 
French    artist,   and   the   side   altars   contain 


paintings  by  the  Franciscan  monk  Lefrangois, 
who  died  in  1685.  Hung  upon  a  decorated 
pedestal  is  a  handsome  oval  frame  or  reli- 
quary like  a  large  locket,  sunounded  with 
garnets,  and  having  in  its  center  a  rich  cross 
of  pearls.  Besides  this,  you  see  the  collection 
of  bones  said  to  be  the  relics  of  the  saint, 
consisting  of  a  piece  of  one  finger-bone,  ob- 
tained in  1663,  by  Bishop  Laval,  from  the 
chapter  of  Carcassonne,  and  which  was  first 
exposed  to  view  on  the  12th  of  March,  1670. 
In  another  case  there  is  a  piece  of  bone  of 
the  saint,  obtained  in  1877,  but  the  Redemp- 
torist  Fathers,  who  have  charge  of  the  mission, 


THE   CANADIAN  MECCA. 


13 


IN    THE    NEW    CHURCH,   ON    THE    SITE    OF    THE    OLD. 

do  not  know  to  what  part  of  the  body  it  be- 
longs. The  dry  bones  of  the  saint  do  not 
appear  to  differ  in  glory  from  those  of  a  sin- 
ner. The  church  also  claims  to  own  a  piece 
of  the  true  cross  upon  which  our  Saviour  died, 
and  a  piece  of  stone  from  the  foundation  of  the 
house  in  which  Ste.  Anne  lived,  brought  from 
France  in  1879.  Also  there  may  be  seenasuperb 
chasuble,  given  by  Anne  of  Austria,  mother  of 
Louis  XIV.,  and  some  silver  crucifixes. 

Nothing,  however,  will  excite  more  curiosity 
than  the  great  pyramid  of  crutches,  and  aids  to 
the  sick  and  the  crippled,  twenty-two  feet  high, 
divided  into  six  tiers,  and  crowned  by  a  very 
old  gilt  statue  of  the  saint.  The  collection  is 
very  curious  and  principally  home-made,  com- 
prising plain  walking-sticks,  odd  knobbed 
fancies  of  sexagenarians,  queer  handles,  and 
padded  arm  and  shoulder  rests,  made  of  pine, 
oak,  birch,  ash,  hickory,  rock-elm — of  all 
common  and  many  novel  designs.  A  half- 
leg  support  testifies  to  a  reputed  removal  of 
anchylosis  of  the  knee-joint  by  intercession  to 
the  saint.  I  have  no  desire  to  sneer,  but  that 
there  is  some  imposition  and  much  imagina- 
tion about  these  "  miracles  "  no  impartial  mind 
can  doubt.  One  may  carry  his  charity  to  the 
verge  of  believing  that  implicit  faith  in  inter- 
cession to  a  saint,  with  mingled  hope  and  fear 
and  a  strong  determination  to  force  a  cure, 
may  in  some  cases  really  throw  off  disease;  but 
the  power  of  mind  and  will  over  the  body  with- 


out any  such  intercession  is  familiar  to  every 
student,  and  is  no  doubt  an  undeveloped 
branch  of  medical  science.  A  coincidence  is 
not  a  miracle,  neither  is  this  power  of  the  will 
over  the  body  a  miracle.  Among  the  long  list 
of  reputed  miracles,  the  following  from  a  man- 
ual of  devotion  will  be  sufficiently  suggestive* 
"In  the  year  1664,  a  woman  broke  her  leg. 
As  the  bone  was  fractured  in  four  places,  it 
was  impossible  to  set  it.  For  eight  months  she 
was  unable  to  walk,  and  the  doctors  gave  up 
all  hope  of  a  cure.  She  made  a  novena,  in 
honor  of  the  saint,  and  vowed  that  if  she  was 
cured  she  would  visit  the  shrine  every  year. 
She  was  carried  to  the  church,  and  during  the 
communion  she  put  aside  her  crutches  and 
was  cured  at  once."  Sworn  testimony  is  given 
as  to  instant  recovery  in  diseases  said  by  phy- 
sicians to  be  incurable  by  ordinary  means,  and 
among  the  particular  favors  accorded  to  the 
parish,  the  temporal  as  well  as  spiritual  is  not 
forgotten.  The  Bishop  of  Montreal  says  that 
it  is  Ste.  Anne  who  obtains  for  it  "rain  in 
the  time  of  drought."  "  For  it  is  a  pious  tradi- 
tion among  you,"  says  he,  "  that  a  little  pict- 
ure representing  Ste.  Anne,  with  her  august 


HOLY-WATER    FOUNT     AND     POOR-BOX. 


\ 


14 


THE   CANADIAN  MECCA. 


daughter,  is  the  instrument  of  God's  mercy 
towards  you." 

During  the  service  in  the  church,  the  pil- 
grims crowd  up  to  the  altar  and  kneel  in  long 
rows  in  front  of  the  balustrade.  The  officiating 
l)riests  cairy  the  relics  in  one  hand  and  a 
handkerchief  in  the  other,  and  touch  the  glass 
cover  to  the  lips  of  the  worshipers,  wiping  it 
after  each  kiss. 

As  you  come  out,  you  see  pilgrims  around 
the  fountain,  drinking  its  water  and  filling 
bottles  to  carry  home.  It  is  not  the  original 
well,  which  is  said  to  have  been  the  scene  of 
cures  as  miraculous  as  those  performed  at 
Lourdes;  but  if  it  was  justifiable  to  move  the 
church,  why  not  the  well  ?  As  you  turn  to  the 
left,  you  see  a  picturesque  way-side  oratory, 
built  of  rough  stones  and  mortar,  from  which 


which  the  pilgrims  pin  on  their  coats  and 
dresses,  like  the  shells  worn  by  the  pilgrims 
who  have  visited  the  shrine  of  Ste.  Anne  in 
Brittany.  Heaps  of  litUe  brass  and  plaster 
statues,  photographs,  beads,  and  other  trink- 
ets, attract  the  visitor.  The  air  is  full  of 
babble  from  the  crowds  of  tired  yet  talkative 
people  sitting  on  the  grass  or  the  benches, 
eating  their  luncheon  out  of  huge  carpet- 
bags. Two  girls,  who  had  heard  from  me 
of  the  wonderful  well  in  Brittany,  were 
throwing  pins  into  the  fountain  to  find  out 
their  matrimonial  prospects,  and  laughing 
heartily  over  their  efforts.  When  the  pins  fell 
head  foremost,  hope  grew  sick ;  when  the 
points  first  touched  the  water,  the  prospect 
of  marriage  within  a  year  was  certain.  I 
noticed  that,  like  the  Chinese  praying  to  his 


.jBT,AucIer:  Louis 
|pu^/ici?  M'«LrtrieT7 


raie  dea.o.Aij^wa^ouT^'Cgaj 
tous  <raan5  ceCriile  eCa 


■\eureus5 


A>re 


EX    VOTO    PAINTING,    1754. 


a  stream  of  water  comes  from  the  hill.  A  walk 
along  this  road  is  very  interesting.  You  may 
see  the  black  cross  against  the  wall  of  every 
house.  The  heraldic  emblem  of  Berne  is  not 
more  revered  in  that  city  than  the  statue  of 
Ste.  Anne  here,  and  in  every  house  you  see  it 
in  plaster,  brass,  or  picture.  An  old  cemetery 
here  has  been  used  so  much  that  the  beadle 
told  me  he  hadsjbimself  laid  three  long  rows  of 
people,  burying  fh^m  indiscriminately  side  by 
side,  and  on  top  of  each  oth'  — "first  come, 
first  served."  Those  who  pa)  from  twenty- 
five  to  a  hundred  dollars  may  be  buried 
under  the  new  church,  the  vaults  of  which  are 
specially  reserved  for  this  purjiose. 

Little  rustic  booths  do  an  active  business  in 
memorials  of  the  saint,  in  the  shape  of  medals, 


favorite  idol  for  "more  money,"  they  both 
persisted  until  the  test  turned  tlie  right  way. 

Coming  back  to  our  hospitable  "  Retreat," 
we  saw  a  fascinating  study  of  life  and  charac- 
ter. A  tidy,  handsome  village  girl  had  a  boy 
seated  on  a  stool  on  the  sidewalk  in  front  of 
her  house,  and  was  vigorously  clipping  his 
shaggy  locks,  catching  the  debris  in  her  apron, 
which  she  had  tucked  around  the  lad's  neck. 
"  Surely  some  pilgrim  to  Ste.  Anne  will  lose 
his  heart  if  he  risk  his  hair  to  the  pretty  bar- 
ber," thought  I.  It  turned  out  that  some  pil- 
grim had,  and  that  she  was  a  fisherman's  wife. 

Every  house  seems  to  share  in  the  profits 
of  the  pilgrimages,  for  though  the  older  habi- 
tants hardly  ever  spend  a  sou,  youth  and  beauty 
must  have  its  fling.    You  see  barrels  of  root 


THE   CANADIAN  MECCA. 


'5 


t 


THE    COLLECTION    OF    CRUTCHES. 


or  spruce  beer,  huge  slices  of  brown  bread  and 
butter,  berries,  gingerbread,  boiled  corn  on 
the  cob,  and  other  Canadian  luxuries,  on  the 
sills  of  the  windows,  or  on  rough  deal  tables 
at  the  doors.  Inside  you  see  long  rows  of 
solemn  white  cups  and  saucers,  and  piles  of 
plates.    In  one  little  auberge  there  is  a  queer 


character,  with  a  monstrous  hump  on  her 
back  and  another  on  her  nose.  She  has  been 
living  at  Ste.  Anne's  for  seven  years,  inter- 
ceding every  day  for  the  reduction  of  her  de- 
formity, but  it  increases  with  her  age. 

But  what  song  is  that  stealing  over  the 
water,  like  a  Canadian  voyageur's   refrain  ? 


i6 


ESTRANGEAfENT. 


Al     THE     lOlNTAlN     OF    BLESSED    WATER. 


Refbain. 


A  boat  laden   with   pilgrims   from   the  Isle    p  ^^  l^ <~c^— g_*^priiri_-rg: 

of  Orleans  is  making  for  our  shore,  and  the    EEl>E^E^tbzibE^ir^^Ett:iE^=c2S_ 


voices  rise  and  fall  with  the  dip  of  the  oars      ,,.       ,       „s  ,  .^  r   ,    ^  >         c  •, 

.,  ,,  r-   ,  i^tv-v^  Vicrsc  h   8a  Me  -  re  con  duit  ess  en-fantB.  Dai -gr.ez,  Saintc 

m  the  true  rhythm  of  the  cariotier  : 


:^^T^ 


t-— h;— • 

V — ¥ — 


0—0— • 

■I — H 1 — 


vii    p=p=p: 


0 P-V 


0-   .        ^ 


^^^m^m 


Vers  son  Banctu  -  ai  -  re,  de-puis  deux  cents  ans,  La  Anne,  en  un  si  beau  jour,  de  vos  enfants  a  -  gre-er  I'a-mour ! 

W.  George  Beers. 


